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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23577871">One Shots</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/nekosmuse/pseuds/nekosmuse_archive'>nekosmuse_archive (nekosmuse)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Third Watch</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Ficlets, one shots</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 21:41:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,127</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23577871</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/nekosmuse/pseuds/nekosmuse_archive</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Written pre 2005. Posting for archival purposes.</p><p>A series of one shots, originally posted to livejournal. Ratings vary.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Maurice Boscorelli/Faith Yokas</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. A Day in the Life of an RMP</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Bosco and Faith's relationship from an outside perspective.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Oh god no, not the short one, anything but the short one. Hell the only thing worse is the pretty one when she’s pissed off.</p><p>She’s in a good mood today. The annoying balding one must have gotten it up for once.</p><p>Hey, do you think I need that much gas? Honestly, lighten up a bit and watch out for that bus! Damn, at this rate I’m not going to live to see my third birthday.</p><p>Oh god, they’re flirting again, gag. Just jump in the back and get it over with already! I swear if I hear one more innuendo I’m going to drive myself into the East River.</p><p>Anything is preferable to this, I’d take the tall one and the fat one over these two any day.</p><p>Hey, hey, ease up a bit, I wasn’t meant to take corners quite that fast. That’s right stop, oh thank god.</p><p>No, no, don’t stare longingly at her. She’s way out of your league, give it up already.</p><p>Now where are they going? I spend half my day trying to ignore the raging hormones surging between them and the other half waiting on some corner for them.</p><p>Oh great, we have a guest. The short one’s made him bleed. It’s inevitable, every time I’m forced to drive these two around I end up dented, nauseous and covered in blood.</p><p>The bleeding one is looking at the pretty one. You know what that means. The short one’s going to rough him up some more. They had better wipe my seats off this time.</p><p>Honestly, over protective much? Now I have blood and saliva on my seats. I really hate the short one, I don’t know how the pretty one puts up with him.</p><p>Thank god he’s gone, the bleeding one did not smell all that good. They didn’t wipe my seat, grrrrr.</p><p>Great dinnertime, careful with those burritos, you’re getting hot sauce all over my dash. The pretty one sure is a pig when she eats, why the short one loves her is beyond my comprehension.</p><p>Oh, oh, the short one’s managed to piss off the pretty one. Just apologize already. No, don’t let her drive. Damn, I’m going to loose a fender.</p><p>Thank god the night is over. Well come on, get out already, let me get some rest, god knows I need it. No, please no, not another touching moment where they skirt around what they actual want to say. Just tell her you love her, it’s not that hard, I love you, see, I’m a damn car and I can do it.</p><p>“Guess we should head in.”</p><p>“Yeah, probably.”</p><p>“Yeah”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. About Time</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It's about time.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She buried Fred two months ago. It was hard on her, hard on the kids, even hard on me, I hate seeing her hurt. At first I thought I was going to lose her, she withdrew from everything. Three weeks ago I came home to find a message on my answering machine, it was Faith. She sounded distant, not upset, just disjointed. I didn’t even let the message play itself out, I grabbed my keys and left, made it to her place in record time.</p>
<p>She’d found a box of Fred’s things, hidden away in the attic. Pictures, letters, small memorabilia, all belonging to another woman. I never liked Fred, always thought she was too good for him, but this, if he was still alive I’d kill him myself. I mean how do you cheat on a woman like Faith, didn’t he know what he had, hell I’d give anything to have been in his place.</p>
<p>She wasn’t crying but I took her into my arms nonetheless. I stroked her hair, kissed her temple and whispered words of comfort. She was so still, to be honest, I think she was in shock. We sat like that all night, her nestled in my arms, me trying my best to console her.</p>
<p>Four days ago she came to live with me, said she couldn’t remain in her apartment, she’d find a new one in the fall. It took some rearranging but we managed to fit the four of us in my one bedroom, showering in the mornings became almost a competitive sport.</p>
<p>The kids share my old bedroom, Faith and I share the couch. I’ve been a perfect gentleman, no kissing, no touching, nothing inappropriate what so ever. It’s killing me. I’ve had more cold showers in the past few days then I’ve had in my lifetime, and that includes the two months I forgot to pay the utility bill.</p>
<p>Everyday she looks through the classifieds to find a place of her own. I don’t want her to leave. I can’t remember a time in my life that Faith wasn’t the centre. I think I might go through withdrawal if she leaves. I know this place isn’t big enough for all of us but I don’t want to live without her, I love having her here.</p>
<p>She doesn’t know, I haven’t found the courage to tell her yet. I think maybe she suspects, this morning I woke up wrapped around her, god she felt so good in my arms. I didn’t know she was awake, if I did I probably wouldn’t have smelled her hair, she uses lavender shampoo.</p>
<p>I want so bad to tell her how I feel, I’ve rehearsed, in front of a mirror no less, god I’m really getting pathetic. I’ve even gone over every possible outcome. Her freaking out and leaving, possibly shooting me, her falling into my arms, this one’s my favorite, and even her not responding at all. If I’m placing bets I’d have to go with the shooting, that’s alright, I’m going to wear my vest.</p>
<p>The kids are with her parents tonight, we both needed a break, some time alone. We have the night off, a week of working double shifts and it’s due. I know it’s probably too soon but if I don’t tell her now I’m going to spontaneously combust.</p>
<p>She’s looking at me now. She knows I want to tell her something but faced with the actual words I’m frozen, terrified. She looks worried, a little frightened, I’m not sure if I should be concerned.</p>
<p>“Faith”</p>
<p>“Yeah?”</p>
<p>I can’t bring myself to say it so instead I lean into her, press my lips to hers. The kiss starts out soft and soon her tongue is in my mouth, her hands on my chest. I take the opportunity to deepen the kiss, wrap my arms around her and pull her towards me. I break away first, not wanting to overstep my bounds. She smiles and utters the sweetest words I’ve ever heard.</p>
<p>“It’s about time.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Academy Days</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Right from the start, they were meant for each other.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Maurice Boscorelli.</p>
<p>I’m still not quite sure what to think of him. He’s arrogant, brash and completely offensive. The first time I saw him, I labeled him a jerk, dismissed him from my mind. He wasn’t someone I wanted to know.</p>
<p>The why was it that I couldn’t stop thinking about him? Sure, he was attractive. I’d have to be blind not to notice. But beyond that, there was just something about him. Like he was destined to play this important part in my life. And I still wasn’t sure what that was.</p>
<p>At first I avoided him at all costs. Went out of my way to not see him. But everywhere I went, he’d show up. For a while, I thought he was following me.</p>
<p>I’d watched the other female cadets drooling over him. He flirted with them, probably slept with most of them, but other then that, he didn’t pay them any attention. In fact, I was pretty much the only person he spoke to.</p>
<p>He’d sit beside me in class, stand next to me at the range. He’d even run along side me on the track. And I still couldn’t figure out why.</p>
<p>It wasn’t until he suggested letting him cheat off me that I thought I knew his motives. I cried myself to sleep that night, uncertain why that thought hurt so much.</p>
<p>Having told him no, I half expected him to stop seeking me out. Didn’t happen. The mystery that was Maurice Boscorelli only became more complex. We’d compromised. I’d teach him the technical requirements. He’d help me with the physical requirements. I kicked myself for agreeing to the arrangement.</p>
<p>Our first session began innocently enough. We’d met for coffee, me lugging a bag of textbooks and him bringing only himself. He looked good in his street clothes, I’m ashamed to admit it, but he looked damn good.</p>
<p>We found a quiet table near the back, away from all the noise. We settled in, order some coffee and I dug out our supplies.</p>
<p>“Here,” I said handing him a notebook.</p>
<p>“What’s this for?” he questioned.</p>
<p>“Um, taking notes,” I replied.</p>
<p>“Don’t need em,” he told me, that half smile of his plastered on his face.</p>
<p>“Fine,” I said, taking out several of the textbooks.</p>
<p>I began my lecture by going over police codes. Not the most exciting thing to do, but they were important.</p>
<p>“God, why the hell do I need to learn these? Can’t they just tell us what’s happening without using a damn code,” he interrupted halfway through my explanation.</p>
<p>“Look Maurice, you may not think this is important but they’re gonna test us on it,” I explained.</p>
<p>His head shot up at the use of his given name. I didn’t realize it then, but only his mother and his conquests used that name.</p>
<p>“Bosco, call me Bosco,” he ordered.</p>
<p>That was the first, and only time, I’d referred to him as Maurice.</p>
<p>I was ready to chew through nails by the time I got home. Didn’t help finding Fred drunk and unconscious on the couch. I told myself to be patient and went to bed. ‘Maurice’ was not easy to teach. And Fred, well, I’d worry about Fred later.</p>
<p>The lessons continued. Every other day we’d go over laws, codes and procedures. The rest of the time was spent at the range or in the gym. Within weeks, Bosco was my only friend at the academy.</p>
<p>I admit, teaching Bosco was frustrating, but he was equally as frustrated with me. I kept expecting him to give up, but he never did.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>“Okay, you want to line up the sight. Squeeze the trigger, don’t pull it,” he instructed.</p>
<p>I fired the shot, completely missing my target. Next to me Bosco sighed in irritation.</p>
<p>“No! You’re doing it wrong,” he practically yelled.</p>
<p>Shaking his head, he moved to stand behind me. All the hairs on my neck stood on end as I felt his warmth pressed against me.</p>
<p>He placed his left hand on my hip. His right curled around my hand, securing the gun. He pressed his cheek next to mine, attempting to duplicate my line of sight. He shifted the weapon, pulling my hip into him to correct my stance.</p>
<p>“There, like that,” he told me.</p>
<p>“Uh huh,” I replied, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable.</p>
<p>He must have sensed my discomfort. Like a man burnt, he pulled away, laughing nervously.</p>
<p>“You’re still a terrible shot,” he joked.</p>
<p>“Yeah, well at least I know what 10-15 is,” I countered.</p>
<p>“License plate check, right?” he asked.</p>
<p>I turned in surprise and smiled at him.</p>
<p>“Yeah, you’re right,” I said.</p>
<p>He looked proud and returned my smile. I turned back and positioned myself, trying to duplicate the demonstration Bosco just gave. I made the shot, center mass.</p>
<p>“See, not so hard,” he said with a laugh, his eyes twinkling.</p>
<p>“Wow,” I expressed, causing us both to grin.</p>
<p>Bosco passed the tests. I passed the physical requirements. It’s still hard to believe we’ve made it this far. Bosco’s still an obnoxious jerk, but he’s my obnoxious jerk. And I wouldn’t want anyone else for a partner.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. All in a Glance</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It's all in the eyes.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I shuffle more then walk into the locker rooms. It’s been a long day, hell, it’s been a long week. I’m starting to think I’m getting too old for this. Maybe early retirement’s not such a bad idea. Not sure what I’d do with myself. Probably watch too much TV. Still, sounding pretty good right now.</p>
<p>“Damn, I just want to go home and crawl into bed,” I mutter, feeling completely drained.</p>
<p>“Oh come on Sul, it wasn’t that bad,” my partner replies.</p>
<p>“Wasn’t that bad? Right, you try talking to me when you’re my age,” I reply, the irritation evident in my voice.</p>
<p>I don’t think Ty gets it. He’s still young. I sometimes miss it, the raw enthusiasm for the job, the energy that comes with youth. Fortunately, he drops the subject. As much as I’ve come to love our banter, tonight I need silence.</p>
<p>We were late coming in, the room’s empty. I pause before my locker, bending over to untie my shoes. Beside me Ty rummages through his bag, pulling out his street clothes. The door swings open, a wave of laughter filling the room. The dynamic duo’s back, I note with a grimace. They seem happy, at least someone had a good shift.</p>
<p>“Hey Sul, Ty,” Faith greets.</p>
<p>“Hey, you guys are late getting in,” Ty comments.</p>
<p>“Yeah, one of those nights,” she responds, laughing slightly.</p>
<p>“Right,” I mutter.</p>
<p>I watch them at the sinks, washing away the days dirt, joking about their last arrest. They’re joined at the hip again, getting along better then most people should. Their mood grates against my nerves. I guess it’s preferable to them fighting. Everything is tense when they fight. Beside me, Ty closes his locker.</p>
<p>“Well, I’m off, I’ll see you guys later,” he says, shouldering his bag.</p>
<p>“Night Ty,” Faith replies, smiling after him.</p>
<p>Bosco and I only nod. I turn back to the task of changing, still wanting only to go home. I feel out of place with just the two of them. Whatever conversation they were having is dropped as they both turn to their lockers.</p>
<p>I don’t think they’re aware of my presence anymore. Maybe they think I left with Ty, leaving them alone. Then again, even in a crowded room, they’re alone. I hazard a glance up, noting the direction of Bosco’s gaze. He’s watching her change again. I’m not even sure he’s aware he’s doing it.</p>
<p>I suddenly feel like a voyeur, and in a way, I am. These moments exist solely for them, I have no place in them. I sometimes want to shake them, thrust them together. Can’t they see it? Don’t they know?</p>
<p>She’s married, I suppose that’s part of the problem. That wall far surpasses any they put up on their own. She closes her locker, the sound echoing throughout the room. It startles me, but they remain oblivious to my presence. I try to tune them out, it isn’t hard.</p>
<p>He turns to her, says something I don’t catch. She shakes her head, laughing slightly. Their eyes meet. I’ve never seen anyone stare the way they do. I’m surprised the room doesn’t burst into flames. Everything is right there, written in that gaze. She looks away first, she always does. It’s almost like she can’t look any longer without being honest. It’s too late. I know. And I think he does too.</p>
<p>She doesn’t speak as she leaves the room, doesn’t turn around once. Bosco’s eyes follow her, lingering on the closed door. I cough, causing him to jump. He spins to glare at me. Bosco and I have our own look, it’s not nearly as friendly as his and Faith’s.</p>
<p>“You should just tell her,” I say, pulling out my jacket and shutting my locker.</p>
<p>“Mind your own business Sully.” Is his reply.</p>
<p>I shrug, not caring to argue the point. So what if they’re both miserable. So what if the tension between them is enough to make anybody crazy. He shoves his uniform in his duffle bag, then heads toward the door. He pausing before leaving, speaking without turning around.</p>
<p>“She knows,” he says.</p>
<p>The door swings shut behind him.</p>
<p>~*~*~</p>
<p>I didn’t really think it was that obvious, not until Sully pointed it out. That guy never has a clue, and he knew? Who else knows? Fred? Faith? Despite what I told him, she doesn’t know. Maybe she suspects, but I think she passes it off as a crush. An 8 year crush that’s become the single obsession in my life. I know she cares about me, probably even loves me in her own way.</p>
<p>It’s complicated, like most things are. Even if she wasn’t married, we’re still partners. Besides, no one gets hurt this way, well, no one but me. Cause it does hurt, seeing her with another man, leaving her at the end of each shift, knowing I’ll never have her. Hell, it even hurts when she turns down my offer of a ride.</p>
<p>I force myself to push aside all thoughts of Faith. Once outside, I pull my coat tight against the pouring rain. It comes down in sheets, crashing against me, soaking me to the bone. I fumble for my keys, wanting nothing more then to crawl into my warm, dry, and empty bed.</p>
<p>I notice her leaning against my car, my footsteps falling short. She’s soaking wet, her hair hanging in strands, the ends dripping in time with the rain. She shivers, glancing up to meet my gaze. I smile.</p>
<p>“Thought you didn’t want a lift?” I shout.</p>
<p>“It’s raining,” she explains.</p>
<p>I find myself smiling again, moving to unlock her door. She looks perplexed as I hold it open for her. I shrug, hoping she won’t question the act. I circle around, opening my own door and climbing in, out of the rain. I offer her another small smile as I start the car.</p>
<p>The blare of the radio fills the small space. I sheepishly turn down the speakers. Faith relaxes, leaning forward to turn on the heat. She sinks back into the seat, her eyes closing.</p>
<p>I pull away from the precinct, heading towards her apartment. It’s a familiar route, one I’ve taken so many times. I’ve memorized every turn, every light. I don’t even notice them anymore.</p>
<p>The rain beats against the car, echoing through the silence. Beside me Faith dozes. I wonder if she’ll notice if I take the long route. I’m tempted to, anything to prolong our time together. I don’t, I know she’s tired, and most likely wants to go home to her family.</p>
<p>“You wanna grab a coffee or something?” she asks suddenly, her eyes never opening.</p>
<p>I’m shocked, but I’m not going to argue. Instead I nod, turning left instead of right. Four blocks brings us to the nearest Andrews Coffee Shop. I pull into the small parking lot, cutting the engine, leaving us with only the sound of the rain.</p>
<p>“Ready?” I ask, waiting for her to nod before throwing open the door and dashing towards the building.</p>
<p>She beats me there, but only by a fraction of a second. I can’t help but notice how cute she is when she’s wet. She shakes herself off before opening the door and proceeding inside.</p>
<p>Inside it’s warm, and quiet. We find a booth near the back, beside a window. I take my place across from her. She orders coffee, black, I have the same. We sit in comfortable silence for a moment. Faith stares out the window, watching the rain. I play with the plastic tab on my coffee lid.</p>
<p>~*~*~</p>
<p>I’m still trying to figure out why I invited him for coffee. I think maybe I just wasn’t ready to go home. Or maybe, I just wasn’t ready to say goodnight. I think he sensed that. Usually when I ask, he turns me down. I know he wants to, his eyes tell me that. But something stops him. I think I know that too.</p>
<p>I stare out the window, watching the rain against the window. It beads, running in a constant stream. Lighting streaks across the sky, followed by the low rumble of thunder. I’m completely transfixed by the storm, it’s raw power filling me with excitement. I turn to look at Bosco, his eyes locked on the sky.</p>
<p>He turns back to me, his eyes sparkling as the next crash of lightning catches them. He smiles, staring back. I’m caught in his eyes. They hold this power, this intensity. If far surpasses Mother Nature. I can’t seem to tear myself away.</p>
<p>I know I should, this is dangerous, my mind tells me. I’m weak when it comes to Bosco. I manage to fight it, most of the time. But tonight, I’m tired, and lonely, and he’s looking at me. I reach across the table, taking his hand. He doesn’t say anything, but returns my squeeze, his eyes never leaving mine.</p>
<p>“Come back to my place Faith,” he whispers.</p>
<p>I nod before I realize I’m doing it. He stands, pulling me from my seat. I let him lead us from the restaurant, back out into the rain. He opens my door, the second time this night, I note. I climb in, shivering, but not from the cold.</p>
<p>He drives fast, too fast. I’m terrified we’ll end up in an accident. Our bodies lying broken in a twisted frame of metal. It doesn’t happen. He pulls in front of his building, shutting off the car before looking over at me.</p>
<p>He doesn’t say anything as he climbs out. Nothing as he opens my door, offering me his hand. I take it, allowing him to lead me into the building, up the stairs, and to his apartment. Outside, the rain continues to fall.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Carved from Stone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Faith struggles to move forward.</p>
<p>Warning: Character death.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was raining the night you died.</p>
<p>I remember worrying the rain would wash away all trace of you. No one would know your blood had stained the pavement. No one would remember.</p>
<p>I know it was a Wednesday but I can’t for the life of me remember the date, or even the time. It was night, I remember noticing the way the streetlights reflected against your badge causing it to sparkle.</p>
<p>Your last words were my name. Whispered, barley auditable to anyone around us. I heard you though. I told you it would be all right.</p>
<p>Looking back I remember the night with vivid detail but yet I recall everything being blurred, like time had stopped. The noise of the crowd, the sirens in the distance, all diluted as though I was underwater.</p>
<p>Mostly I remember the fear, seeing you fall, watching you clutch your chest. Panic consumed me. I screamed your name and crawled over to you. You were so pale. Your eyes were like glass and I begged you to hold on, begged you not to leave me.</p>
<p>You looked so perplexed, like you couldn’t believe what had happened. I’m not sure I did either. I remember hoping it was all a bad dream, I’d wake up tomorrow and none of this would be real.</p>
<p>You were pronounced on the scene. I thought they must be mistaken, you couldn’t have died, you’re strong, invincible.</p>
<p>I fell to my knees and cried my anguish to the world. Wept my pain for all that cared to listen. Pleaded with god, fate and time to bring you back to me.</p>
<p>I’m not even sure how long I lay in the street. The rain soaking my uniform, chilling my soul. I was numb, lost and devastated. I’d never before felt such pain, it lingers with me still.</p>
<p>Everything is dull now, like the colours have lost their intensity. I move through the motions of my day, waiting for the inevitable, unconcerned with everything around me. I feel so incomplete without you, like I’ve lost an arm, although I’m almost certain it’s my heart that’s missing.</p>
<p>I visit you every day. I bring you wild flowers. I like them because they’re untamed, they remind me of you. I sit sometimes and just talk, I don’t know if you hear but I tell you all the things I should’ve told you in life.</p>
<p>It’s so short isn’t it, life I mean. One minute you’re here and the next, poof, like you never existed. Everything that you were retained only in the memories of those that knew you until one day they’re gone too and all that’s left is a stone with your name carved into it.</p>
<p>Death stalks me now, follows along behind me, hidden in the shadows. I often wonder if I should just submit to him. I don’t though, I know you’d be disappointed in me. Besides, I don’t want to leave my kids without a mother, I’m not that selfish.</p>
<p>Everyone tells me it will get easier with time. It hasn’t. I haven’t gone back to work yet, I’m not sure if I ever will, everything there is too cold and sterile.</p>
<p>I’m not sure how to let go or how to move forward. I feel like I’m stuck in the sand, I can’t get a footing and I’m sinking. I still wake in the night, covered in a thin sheen of perspiration, struggling to breathe.</p>
<p>I kept your apartment. I know I can’t really afford it but it smells like you. I stay there now, curled up amongst your things, they’re tactile and I like being able to feel something connected to you.</p>
<p>I miss you every hour of every day. I don’t think I ever realized how much of me lay within you.</p>
<p>It was raining the night you died.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Compliance</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Breaking down lies.</p>
<p>Warning: infidelity.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I wish I knew how I got to this place. How this became my life. I shouldn’t be here. I should be at home, in bed, with my husband. It’s not my fault, really it isn’t. He came to me first.</p>
<p>
  <i>Bos? What are you doing here?</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>I needed to see you.</i>
</p>
<p>That’s always the way it is. Bosco comes to me when he needs something. I should turn him away, I know that. But I like being needed. I like that he comes to me. It seems right. I don’t examine it, I don’t think I want to know why. On some unconscious level I do, and it terrifies me.</p>
<p>
  <i>You’re wet.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>It’s raining.</i>
</p>
<p>I’m soaked to my core. A trail of water betrays my presence. Everyone will know I’ve been here. Denial is no longer an option. I feel weak coming here, but safe. I know my presence will be welcome. I brush my hair out of my face, trying to clear my vision. It doesn’t help. I just hope he will mistake tears for rain.</p>
<p>
  <i>Fred’s asleep</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Can I come in?</i>
</p>
<p>Of course I let him in. How can I not? Even when every fiber of my being is screaming at me not to. This is dangerous. I have no walls here, no uniform to hide behind. And he knows me. Knows that I hide. But he won’t let me here.</p>
<p>
  <i>Faith, I’m sorry.</i>
</p>
<p>No, please, don’t say that. You’re not. And I’m not. We can’t be. I don’t want this. I don’t know what I want. Certainly not a wet, lost Bosco standing in my living room, staring at me like he’s expecting me to break his heart. And he should. And I should. But I can’t. And I won’t.</p>
<p>
  <i>You want a coffee?</i>
</p>
<p>Change the subject. It’s what I do. I can’t stand in the face of honesty. This is my life. Rows and rows of lies, all stacked on top of one another, until I’m no longer sure truth exists.</p>
<p>
  <i>Nah, I’m okay</i>
</p>
<p>For a fleeting moment, I wish he’d accepted. Coffee is easy. Coffee is civil. Coffee doesn’t leave us standing here in awkward silence. Neither of us knowing what to say. What to do.</p>
<p>
  <i>I don’t want to lose you.</i>
</p>
<p>I shouldn’t have hugged him. I certainly shouldn’t have kissed him back. And I probably shouldn’t have pushed him away, asked him to leave. But I did. And he did. And now I’m the one who’s heart is broken.</p>
<p>Is this what I want? Is this why I’m here? I don’t know. And I hate not knowing. I need a manual, something to tell me what to do. Something to give me the answers, tell me how to fix this.</p>
<p>I let him leave. And despite my impulse to open the door, call out to him, run after him, I didn’t. I bolted the chain, walked down the hall and crawled into bed with a man I no longer love. And he didn’t stir. I wanted to shake him, scream at him. Don’t you know? Do you have any idea how much he means to me? More then you. More then all this. And I love him. And I hate myself for it.</p>
<p>The silence became too much. The ceiling too sterile. I can’t stay here. I can’t. I need something more. But I don’t know what that is. I’m stealthy, like I’m committing some crime. And in a way, I am. Slip out of bed, into the bathroom. Change. Jeans, jeans are good. They’re casual, and comfortable. And me. And I want something that is just mine.</p>
<p>I avoid the mirror. I don’t want to see myself. Know what I am about to do. Where I am about to go. I don’t think I could handle it. The guilt, the disappointment, staring back at me through confused eyes. I had it all. A good job, good friendships, a family. And I’m contemplating throwing it all away. For what?</p>
<p>The questions haunt me as I leave the apartment, locking the door behind me. It runs through my mind as I leave the building, out into the rain. I don’t drive. Walking allows me time to think. Change my mind. And I want to change my mind. But at the same time, I don’t. I want this. But I can’t even be certain of that.</p>
<p>My body forces me to his door, raises my hand to knock. And now, there’s no turning back. There’s no changing my mind. One decision, made in a fraction of a second, and everything has changed. And everything is going to fall apart. And that’s my fault. But it’s also his.</p>
<p>“Faith? What are you doing here?”</p>
<p>“I needed to see you.”</p>
<p>“You’re wet.”</p>
<p>“It’s raining.”</p>
<p>“You want to come in?”</p>
<p>“I think so.”</p>
<p>The door closes behind me, and a moment of panic sets in. I feel the immense need to flee. Like prey, scenting some predator on the wind. But only my conscious is there, telling me this is wrong. And he’s looking at me. Confusion, arousal, and desire, all there. He doesn’t live in lies. And his truth is persuasive, it breaks through my lies. Forcing me to compliance. And I bend, cause what else can I do?</p>
<p>“I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>“Don’t be. You’re here aren’t you?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know why. I shouldn’t be.”</p>
<p>“I’m glad you are.”</p>
<p>His movements are slow, deliberate. He leads me to the bathroom. Leaves me there while he retrieves a change of clothes. His own are dry, new. I don’t bother closing the door while I change. And he doesn’t bother averting his eyes. And I don’t want him to.</p>
<p>It strikes me then, as he leads me to his bed. This is wrong, but it’s also right. And I think that’s just life. There’s no sense to it. No right, no wrong. Only decisions, and repercussions. And I’ll face mine. But not now. Because now, there’s only him, and the sound of the rain on his window.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Pretend</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Between the end of their shift and daybreak, they belong to one another.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I’ve watched you sleep before. In the squad, or on my couch. Never like this though. Right beside you, your breath, even and steady, lulling me into a sense of security. I think I like it.</p>
<p>It’s early, the sun still has yet to grace the world with its presence. I can just make out a faint tinge of scarlet, cresting over the horizon. It’s these moments that I treasure. The calm of the predawn. The silence of the city in this hour. The tranquility of your presence.</p>
<p>I don’t want to leave, but I know I should. Fred will be awake soon, I need to return to my place beside him. I’ll leave my heart here though, I always do.</p>
<p>How did things get so complicated? So messed up? It wasn’t meant to be this way. I wish I could say I belonged here at your side, but I don’t. Out there, in the real world, I belong to him. It’s only these few silent hours between the end of our shift, and the approach of day, that I belong to you.</p>
<p>I don’t wake you, I never do. I’m sure you notice me leave. You tense as I pull away, climb from the bed, but your eyes remain closed, you breathing steady. You never ask me why I leave. You know. Even the next day, when we’re sitting in the car, talking about the most mundane things, we never bring up this moment. It’s silent, secret, even from ourselves.</p>
<p>For a moment, like I do every morning, I consider staying, just this once. I often wonder how you’d react, waking to find me in your bed. I think you wouldn’t mind. In truth, neither would I.</p>
<p>You don’t ask me why I haven’t left Fred. I don’t even think you’ve considered that I might, even though, I know you want me to. You say it in so many ways. In the way you hold me, kiss me, and make love to me. In the way you hover beside me, or place yourself in front of any danger we encounter.</p>
<p>I would leave him you know. It isn’t even the kids I worry about. It’s you, and your reaction. Maybe you want this, this non commitment, these trysts in the night. I’m terrified you’ll turn me away. Terrified you’ll reject me.</p>
<p>I dress at a pace, neither hurried, nor leisurely. Somewhere in between I think. I want to linger, but I dread the day your eyes meet mine. What would I see there? Question? Uncertainty? Regret? Love?</p>
<p>The last though quickens my pace. Never that. Not you. You don’t do love. Despite your actions telling me otherwise. As I leave the room, I don’t look back. I’m afraid if I do, I’ll crumble under the weight of resolve, betraying our arrangement.</p>
<p>You gave me a key, long before any of this started. I use it now, to lock the door, sealing you away from me. I won’t cry. Not anymore. I did the first night. I don’t think you know that.</p>
<p>As I hail a cab, I chastise myself for my weakness, wishing once, just once, I could resist. You pull at me, even now. It frightens me sometimes, this power you have over me.</p>
<p>~*~*~</p>
<p>Home. Fred’s asleep. He always is. I hate him sometimes. With a passion unlike any other. I sometimes want to shake him awake, scream, confess all my dirty sins, make him hate me. Oh god, how I wish he would just hate me.</p>
<p>I deserve to be hated. I use him. For stability, certainty, familiarity. I use you too. For love. For need. For lust. The emotions often blend together, until I’m no longer sure why I run to you. Do you hold some secret? Some key to finding that piece I’m missing?</p>
<p>I don’t shower. It’s not that Fred would question it. But rather, I think I want him to notice. To smell you on me. To know I’ve been unfaithful. A parody of Faith.</p>
<p>In a few hours, I’ll get up, go about my day, like nothing out of the ordinary has occurred. No one will know. And I’ll pretend that doesn’t hurt. When I see you, I’ll smile, vanish the memory of your skin, your sweat, your taste, from my mind. And I’ll pretend that doesn’t hurt. Until then, I’ll lay here, pretending to sleep, and pretending I didn’t wish this was your bed.</p>
<p>~*~*~</p>
<p>I’ve often wondered why she comes to me. I think I know now, but I’m afraid to ask. She never stays. I don’t think she knows how painful that is. Have you ever loved someone you weren’t meant for. Someone you’d never have. Someone who could never return even an ounce of the feelings you have? I have.</p>
<p>I don’t move until I’m sure she’s gone. I want her to be comfortable here. In truth, I’m just selfish. My need for her blinds me, I’ll do anything for her, even let her use me. I know I should turn her away, and maybe someday I’ll find the strength.</p>
<p>I can still smell her on my sheets. That light herbal scent that belongs to Faith. I lean into them, inhaling deeply. Her scent’s intoxicating. She never leaves anything else, not a single hair, not a single article of clothing, just her essence, like a ghost, lingering until I’m not certain I haven’t imagined the entire thing.</p>
<p>I know she goes home every morning to her husband. We have no strings, no commitments, but still, I haven’t been with another woman since this began. I somehow feel it would be a betrayal. Of what, I don’t know.</p>
<p>It’s early, far too early for any sane person to be up. I get up none the less, there’s really no point in staying in bed, I won’t find sleep again. I shower. The first night I didn’t. I was almost afraid to, like I’d be washing her mark from me. I realize now it would be impossible. Her mark touches me in places no water can reach.</p>
<p>I make coffee. Sit in front of the main living room window, watch the sun rise. It’s funny, I’ve never noticed things like that before. Now, for some reason I can’t explain, I’m captivated by it.</p>
<p>I tear my eyes away long enough to glance around the room. Our wine glasses still sit on the coffee table, the bottle next to them, half full. The cushions on the couch are out of place. We almost didn’t make it to the bed last night. I’m glad we did. Faith isn’t meant for couches. She’s meant for satin, and flowers and candles. And she’s turned me into a complete sap. I should hate her for it, but I don’t.</p>
<p>This whole situation is so frustrating I want to scream. I set rules for myself. Never date someone too young to drink, never date someone with more issues then me, and never, never get involved with a married woman. Problem is, Faith’s not just a married woman, she’s Faith. My Faith.</p>
<p>I’ll see her today, and we’ll both pretend this didn’t happen, pretend we didn’t spend the night in one another’s arms. And after our shift, I’ll bring her back here, and we’ll pretend it isn’t out of the ordinary, pretend it isn’t forbidden. And as we fall asleep, I’ll pretend she doesn’t have to leave.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Unwanted Life</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Two years have passed since Faith lost everything. Can she find it again?</p><p>Warning: Prostitution.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mist hangs in the air, covering her in dampness. The rain stopped hours ago, taking with it the humidity. She shivers. Light from a nearby streetlamp reflects off the road, its surface still slick and wet. Business is slow tonight.</p><p>She bends over, taking a moment to adjust her stockings. They've run, a long tear running up the back of her leg. She makes a silent note to replace them. Three dollars, wasted on apparel. Lights flash, momentarily blinding her. She squints, noticing the black sedan rolling towards her.</p><p>Her stomach lurches as she moves to the corner, displaying her wares. The car slows, stopping mere feet from her. She waits patiently for the occupant to unroll the window. Dark eyes and the scent of cigar smoke meet her. She moves to the passenger side, swallowing a mouthful of bile before climbing in.</p><p>~*~</p><p>He pauses for a moment, his eyes glancing to what was once her locker. It's empty now, barren of anything but dust and metal. He forces his gaze away, uncertain why he still expects to see her there. Even with the passing of years, he still misses her.</p><p>He conducted his own search, long after the detectives gave up hope. At night, when he sleeps, he can still smell the scent of her shampoo, still feel the strength of her hand. The memory has only intensified with time.</p><p>He saw Fred this morning, perhaps that is why he longs for her presence. The kids have grown, both young adults now. They hadn't seen him, his presence wouldn't have been welcome, he knows that. Still, he watched them, reveled in their connection to her, cursed Fred's abandonment of her.</p><p>He changes slowly, knowing he will be late, but not caring. Three rookies in two years, and today he gets his fourth. No one wants to work with him, not that he can blame them. He's become erratic, temperamental.</p><p>He blames himself, still, knowing none of this would have happened if not for him. He should have never asked her to go there. If he hadn't, she wouldn't have been shot. She wouldn't have chosen him over Fred. She wouldn't have had to watch while he let her take his fall.</p><p>His eyes close, tears spilling over his thick dark lashes. He wipes them away, angry at the memory. Tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow he will forget. That has been his mantra since he lost her. He chants it now.</p><p>~*~</p><p>Her hand seeks out the light switch, bathing the room in soft white. The lamp flickers, struggling momentarily before growing dark. She curses, flicking on the kitchen light instead.</p><p>The small, run down apartment, is a mess. She ignores it, just as she ignores the cracked windows and dingy carpet. It's all she can afford, sometimes more then she can manage. She moves to the bathroom, trying to remember if she paid the water bill this month. Turning the faucet, she releases a breath as water streams into the sink, down the drain.</p><p>She turns the tap off before pulling back the shower curtain. Her clothes land in a pile on the floor. She sets the water as hot as she can stand it, wanting nothing more then to feel clean. It's been too long since she last felt clean.</p><p>It was a slow night, only earning her two hundred dollars. But for that she had to compromise. The experience has left her feeling ill and violated. She reminds herself, for the tenth time tonight, that she has bills to pay.</p><p>She remains in the shower until her skin is red and raw. Cool night air assaults her as she pulls back the curtain. She reaches for a towel, the fabric worn and stiff. Fabric softener is expensive. She manages to absorb most of the water before hanging it back on the rack, allowing it to drip dry.</p><p>She doesn't feel secure until she is dressed in a pair of soft flannel pants and a baggy t-shirt. She tucks strands of wet hair behind her ears, not bothering to brush it. She crawls into bed, pulling her knees to her chest. Tears spill over her cheeks, and she cries herself to sleep.</p><p>~*~</p><p>He stares at the ceiling, sleep eluding him once again. For the tenth time, he glances at his alarm clock. Four fifteen. He groans in frustration, throwing back the covers before climbing from the bed. He pads barefoot down the hall, into the kitchen.</p><p>The apartment is dark, but despite his fear, he leaves the lights off. He is hit with a wave of cold as he opens the fridge, the light spilling onto the floor. Beer in hand, he moves back to the living room, flicking on the television for background noise.</p><p>He considers calling into work tomorrow. The precinct has become a hostile place, cold. He doesn't remember the last time he enjoyed being a cop, probably not since she left. Again, for the millionth time, he wonders where she is, if she's alright. His eyes drift to the phone, willing her to hear his plea, willing her to call. She doesn't. She never has.</p><p>He slams the beer bottle onto the coffee table. Abruptly he stands, begins pacing the length of the room. He pauses at the window, his eyes staring out into the darkness. He sits on the sill, his fingers tracing patterns along the glass.</p><p>~*~</p><p>The alarm wakes her from a restless sleep. Glancing over, she notes the time, sighing as she realizes she needs to get up. Her body is stiff and sore, something she's come to expect. She stretches, arching back in an effort to loosen her muscles.</p><p>Her days are spent waiting tables. She's not very good at it, but she's not qualified to do anything else. The money isn't good, but she has her second job. She makes more there in a night then she does in a week at the diner. She's thankful her kids aren't with her. She doesn't think she could manage to support them and herself.</p><p>She hasn't seen them in over a year. She often forgets she ever was a mother. It somehow seems like another time, another life. A life she hated until the day she lost it. Now she hates this one.</p><p>She leaves her used coffee cup in the sink, the pile of dirty dishes growing ever larger. She's not sure when she'll have time to do them. Her uniform is dirty and wrinkled. The manager will lecture her about it, but she'll ignore him. She always does.</p><p>The subway train is crowded, she feels trapped, suffocated. Just when she thinks she won't be able to tolerate it any longer, they reach her stop. She pushes her way out, fighting against the surging tide of commuters. It isn't until she reaches street level that she relaxes.</p><p>She punches in two minutes before her shift starts. The manager frowns, noting her appearance. She smiles sheepishly, hoping he'll ignore her. She doesn't want a repeat of yesterday. She shudders, remembering what she was forced to do to keep her job.</p><p>~*~</p><p>He wakes on the couch, frowning until he realizes where he is. He stands, taking a moment to stretch, loosen the kinks in his neck. He makes his way to the bathroom, staring at his reflection in the mirror. Dark circles line his eyes. His skin is pale, ghostly. He's lost weight, his shoulders hunching forward in defeat.</p><p>He turns away, preoccupies himself with the shower, setting the temperature just so. He's tired of staring into guilt clouded eyes. He lets the water rush over him, removing the last remaining traces of exhaustion. The water turns cold, reminding him of the day ahead. There's no distinction now, each day blending into the next, stretching on in a continuous, never ending line.</p><p>He dresses slowly, dreading the thought of returning to work. His new partner is young and eager, blinded by the prospect of doing good. He knows that'll change. Years of heartache and misery will jade him, leaving him the shell of the young man he is now.</p><p>He laughs bitterly, remembering his own youthful exuberance. Gone now, along with so many things, all he's done is lost. Till now, now there is nothing left to lose. He brought it upon himself, pushing aside everyone and anyone who tried to care. He didn't want their attention, they weren't her.</p><p>~*~</p><p>The day passes too quickly, each hour counting down to the inevitable. She hates the night now, a stark contrast from her former self. She watches as the clock ticks forward, marking the end of her shift. She cleans her final table, setting the salt and pepper shakers just so. She doesn't bother changing, her other uniform would be out of place here.</p><p>The light is fading as she reaches home. She doesn't think as she ascends the stairs, blocks out thought as she opens her door, pushes inside. She briefly considers eating, but remembers she hasn't had time to grocery shop. Instead she fills a glass with water, forcing it down.</p><p>She changes slowly, cursing herself for forgetting to pick up stockings. She’ll go barelegged tonight, the sensation leaving her feeling open and vulnerable. She glances in the mirror, not recognizing herself. Her hair is down, falling in waves over her shoulders. Her makeup is thick, hiding her appearance, even from herself. She hates it, but has come to accept it.</p><p>She doesn't remember how she got to this point, but she reasons it no longer matters. She's tried so many times to walk away from it, but the lure of money draws her back. She can't remember how she ever survived before. Surely Fred's income hadn't made that big of a difference, not with two kids to feed.</p><p>She doesn't miss him, not like she does her kids. Any residual anger has long since faded. She doesn't remember what it's like to love a man. She can't recall the last time she felt like anything but an object to one.</p><p>Thunder cracks in the distance and she sighs, knowing tonight will be worst then the last. She lets the front door of her building slam shut behind her, the sound resonating through the street. The streets are dark and deserted. Most of the regular girls won't come out on a night like tonight. She has no choice, rent's due tomorrow.</p><p>~*~</p><p>He ignores the laughter and noise of the locker rooms. He only wants to change, go home. He's not sure he can take much more of this, not sure he can spend another day here. He always feels that way after a shift, but always returns the next afternoon.</p><p>The others make plans to go out for drinks. They don't invite him. He's not certain if it's because they know he'll decline, or because they no longer want his company. He wouldn't blame them if they didn't, he doesn't much like his own company.</p><p>He changes quickly, not bothering to tie his shoes before leaving the room, heading out into the night. Rain falls in sheets, beating against him. He tugs his jacket tight, wrapping himself in its dryness. He doesn't stop shivering until he reaches his car.</p><p>Despite his desire to return home, he finds himself driving, endless circles around the city. The rain reduces visibility, making the roads slippery and treacherous. He doesn't slow, wanting nothing more then to feel the road flying beneath him. The light ahead turns red, forcing him to a stop.</p><p>~*~</p><p>She huddles in a corner, trying to keep out of the rain. The task is near impossible, and soon she is drenched. The street remains empty, the absence of cars sending her into a near panic. She's a hundred dollars short, and knows her landlord won't accept an excuse this time. She's terrified of ending up on the street, knowing she'll never recover from that. At least now she has some chance, however slim.</p><p>The roar of an engine cuts through her thoughts. She glances up in time to see a car screech to a halt at the lights. Knowing she needs the money, she emerges from the shadows, making her way across the street to the vehicle.</p><p>She wrings her hands, trying to quell her nerves. Even now, she isn't comfortable. She's not sure she ever will be. Or that she wants to be. She purposely walks in front of the headlights, hoping to gain the drivers attention. She can barely make him out, only enough to know that he is male, and alone.</p><p>She pauses by the window, raising her hand to knock. She stops halfway as the window rolls down, familiar grey eyes meeting her own. She swallows, suddenly uncertain how to proceed. He doesn't say anything, merely stares at her, confusion, horror and anger flashing across his face.</p><p>He tries to process what he's seeing, but his mind seems unable to. He never expected to find her, certainly not like this. Relief fills him, soon to be replaced by a myriad of other emotions. Fear, uncertainty, anger, disgust. In the end, concern wins out, and he finds the strength to speak.</p><p>"Get in the car," he commands, his jaw clenching as he fights against biting words.</p><p>He doesn't expect her to obey, but to his surprise she does, crossing over to the passenger's side. She opens the door, sliding into the seat next to him. He doesn't speak as the light turns green. The car remains silent until he pulls into a deserted alley, cutting the engine.</p><p>"Don't think just cause I know you this is going to be free," she comments, wringing the water from her hair. It lands on the seat, soaking into the fabric.</p><p>He stares at her, not believing her words. His jaw tightens, his fists clenching into small balls.</p><p>"So what's your going rate, Faith?" he asks, acid curling his tongue.</p><p>For a moment he thinks she intends to slap him. Her lips purse, forming a tight red line against her pale white skin. Mascara runs down her cheeks, giving her eyes a hollow appearance. Instead she moves her hand to her face, wiping away the rain.</p><p>"One hundred, and I need to see it first," she informs him, her tone oddly detached and professional.</p><p>He thrusts his hand into his jeans, pulling out a wade of twenties. He throws them at her, not bothering to count them. She picks them up from where they've landed, counting them with a banker's precision. Satisfied, she tucks the money into her purse before turning back to him.</p><p>"Front or back?" she asks.</p><p>He doesn't miss the hesitation in her voice, or the uncertainty in her eyes. She looks like a startled deer, caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. He watches her swallow, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. He sneers, suddenly realizing she fully intends to go through with this.</p><p>"I just want to talk. Figure one hundred ought to buy me an hour of your time," he replies, noting the flash of relief in her eyes. It's replaced by new fear, new uncertainty.</p><p>He doesn't wait for her reply before stepping out of the car and moving out of the alley. She follows behind, her steps labored and wary. He heads into the motel across the street, one she's frequented more times then she can count. He's already paid for the room and is holding the key when she enters.</p><p>Aside from a glance to ensure she's still following, he doesn't look at her, doesn't speak. He climbs the stairs, not pausing until he's inside the room, the door shutting behind them. He sits on the bed, leaving her to sink into the room's only chair. She fixes her gaze on the floor, no longer able to bear the intensity of his eyes.</p><p>"I looked for you, you know," he comments, his tone filled with hurt and sadness.</p><p>"I know. I didn't want to be found," she replies, hazarding a brief glance up.</p><p>He meets her gaze, his eyes haunted. Her own reflect sorrow, apology and remorse. He has the sudden impulse to pull her into his arms. He doesn't, afraid she'll take it the wrong way. He doesn't want to treat her like a whore, he doesn't even want to think of her as one.</p><p>"Why?" he asks instead.</p><p>She pauses before answering. He can see her working out how best to respond. Finally she looks up, staring him directly in the eyes.</p><p>"I don't know. I guess I just didn't have any other choice," she tells him, a lone tear spilling onto her cheek.</p><p>"Didn't have a choice? That's bullshit Faith," he practically screams.</p><p>"Did I? Tell me what my choice was then Bosco. Fred left, you deserted me. No job, no money, no family, nothing Boz. What the hell else was I supposed to do? Huh?" she screams back, old anger rising to the surface.</p><p>"I didn't desert you Faith. I tried. I tried so fucking hard. And then when you just disappeared, I looked. Every fucking day I was out on that street, searching for you. For what Faith? Because I don't care? That's bullshit too, and you know it," he retorts, knowing this isn't what they need, but unable to stop himself. Too many emotions, buried for too long.</p><p>She trembles visibly, fighting of the urge to argue further. She doesn't want this, not now, not ever. Instead she stands, moving across the room to sit next to him on the bed. She places her hand on his knee, her anger replaced with false sexuality.</p><p>"Is this really how you want to spend your money?" she asks, trying and failing to mask her hurt.</p><p>He stares at her, knowing she's changing the subject, knowing he's hurting her, and knowing this will hurt her even more.</p><p>"No, it's not. Faith, I'm sorry, I just.... I hate the thought of you out here. You could've come to me, you still can," he tells her, surprised by his own honesty.</p><p>If she's affected by his words, she doesn't show it. Instead she pushes him to the bed, climbing over him, pinning him down with her weight. He doesn't resist, knowing this has been inevitable since the beginning. He just hopes she knows what this means to him, what she means to him.</p><p>Words give way to motion, and for the first time, she remembers what it feels like to be loved by a man, to be cherished and cared for. Their hour blends into hours, and then into day. For the first time in two years, she falls asleep next to a man, feeling safe, and secure. She knows she won't be able to return to this life, and the thought gives her hope. She never wanted the life anyway.</p><p>~*~</p><p>He wakes in the morning to find her gone. The room is empty, save for his clothes. His eyes flicker to the dresser. He rises from the bed, moving slowly across the room. A pile of twenties and a note rest next to his keys. Ignoring the cash, he reads the note, tears forming in his eyes at her words.</p><p>
  <i>I didn't want you to think this was about money.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Faith<br/>
555-4587</i>
</p><p>He runs his finger along her number, etching into his memory. Not knowing what else to do, he dresses, pocketing the cash and his keys. He folds the note in half, tucking it into his wallet. He'll call her, but not today. Today he'll go to work, just like he did yesterday. And tomorrow, tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow he'll remember.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Christmas Fluff.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dark clouds hang low on the horizon, blocking the sun and covering the world in perpetual grey. The car's heater does little to ward off the chill. The air is sharp and crisp, holding the promise of snow and impending winter. There will be a white Christmas.</p>
<p>Shivering, she pulls to a stop in front of the local dinner, cutting the engine before stepping out into icy night. She shuffles across the parking lot towards the door, a blast of hot air only emphasizing the difference in temperature. She pauses for a moment, rubbing her hands in a futile effort to generate warmth before approaching the register.</p>
<p>"Hiya Faith, your usual?" the girl behind the counter asks.</p>
<p>"Thanks Mary," she replies, rubbing her nose on the back of her sleeve.</p>
<p>"One black coffee, no charge," Mary chirps, placing the styrofoam cup on the counter and offering a cheery smile.</p>
<p>"Thanks," Faith replies, taking the cup and wrapping her fingers around it, absorbing its heat.</p>
<p>Grasping her coffee, she heads back outside, coldness reclaiming her warmth. She climbs back into her patrol car, preparing herself to spend another four hours driving in endless circles around a too quiet town with nothing to keep her company but her thoughts.</p>
<p>It's times like these that she misses the city, misses it in a way she knew she would but hoped she could avoid. It's not even so much her former life or her children she misses, as just the feel of a city; the overwhelming awe of being surrounded by buildings, overrun by people and cars. Things she never thought she'd miss and yet now, on her third circuit of Glen Falls, she does, so much she’s forced to blink back tears.</p>
<p>She spent exactly three months in the town working odd jobs before the lure of law enforcement overwhelmed her. The local PD was so impressed that a former New York City cop wanted to work in the town that they'd hired her without an interview. It’s not as exciting as the city, but at least she feels like she’s doing something.</p>
<p>~*~</p>
<p>
  <i>The locker room is empty and she thinks for a moment that she should go elsewhere. She knows Bosco's looking for her, knows this will be the first place he looks. She thinks maybe she wants to be found. Maybe she wants the inevitable confrontation because at least then she won't have to hide. Except she wants to hide, even now when he's seen, when she's certain he knows; she still wants to hide.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>She feels lost, feels like a part of her has been stolen, taken away without her permission. Because she's no longer a cop, not in the way she was. Her uniform means nothing anymore, a suit of armor she hides behind because hiding, as she's recently discovered, is something she's good at.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>"Faith?"</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Like clockwork, so predictable it hurts and yet she can't help but smile because at least she knows that no matter what they've been through, no matter how many times they give over to the darkness between them, she knows, knows he still cares.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>"Yeah?"</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Her voice sounds so defeated even she winces. This isn't who she wants to be, isn't who she was. And even though she's not certain who she is anymore, she knows she doesn't like who she's become.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>"Hey, you alright?" Bosco asks, so gently she wants to smack him, because never, not once in their entire partnership has he ever treated her delicately.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>"Fine," she replies, barely suppressing a laugh because she's not fine, she's never fine but no matter how many times she says it, how many times it's untrue, he always accepts it.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>"Faith."</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>And there's warning in his tone, so maybe she's not as certain as she used to be, or maybe she's just tired of lying and her conviction has vanished.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>"I can't do this anymore," she says, startled with her honesty.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>"Do what?" Bosco asks, his confusion evident even when he should understand. He's seen her falter.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>"This...." she begins, gesturing around the empty room. "This job, this life, this.... everything."</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>And that causes him to frown, a flash of irritation and she knows he's angry, takes pleasure in it because god is it good to see Bosco angry. They've been tiptoeing around one another since the whole incident with Cruz and she was beginning to think he'd never, never allow himself to get angry with her.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>"Why?" he asks. She knows he already knows the answer but feels compelled to reply anyway.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>"I just can't. I can't trust in this system, in this department, in me... in you."</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>And god that hurt; so much so she feels a single tear fall down her cheek, landing on the front of her uniform shirt.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>"I'm sorry...." And she is.</i>
</p>
<p>~*~</p>
<p>It's dark by the time she gets home, her house seeming out of place, darkness amidst a sea of twinkling lights. She hasn’t bothered putting up lights, hasn’t had the time, or the desire. Christmas isn’t the same and she’s not naïve enough to think that it ever will be. If her kids were here it would be different, better maybe. Her artificial tree stands in the corner, the only indication of the season. It’s seen better days, half the branches bending at awkward angles, half the lights burnt out.</p>
<p>Tossing her coat onto the back of one of her kitchen chairs, she fills the kettle before turning to her stack of Christmas cards. She didn’t send any out last year. She still can’t quite figure out why she wanted to this year, except that it seemed the thing to do.</p>
<p>The sharp whistle of the kettle draws her attention and she turns away from licking stamps to make tea. The process reminds her of home, something she used to do every night just before she crawled into bed. Except now she gets home before seven, and her bed is cold and far too large for one person.</p>
<p>Charlie and Emily’s presents sit stacked on the corner of the table, already wrapped in brown shipping paper. Last year they’d visited just before the New Year. She’d made a late Christmas dinner, complete with turkey and stuffing. She knew they wouldn’t come this year but it doesn’t stop the surge of disappointment that runs through her at the thought of mailing their gifts.</p>
<p>Her cards addressed and stamped, she adds them to the pile, making a mental note to stop at the post office in the morning. Not knowing what else to do, she sips her tea, staring out the window as the winter’s first snow falls to the ground.</p>
<p>~*~</p>
<p>
  <i>He's been calling non-stop, but she doesn't answer. Can't because she knows answering amounts to giving in and she promised herself she wouldn’t, not this time. Besides, she’s already turned in her resignation and her belongings are already packed into neat little boxes. Not that there was much to pack, Fred had taken most of their possessions in the divorce, the rest she’d given away, no longer wanting the reminder of her former life. She can't even feel remorse because at least her kids are happy. Funny that the only thing she'd ever wanted was happiness for her children and all it took was removing her from their lives.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>She’s had months to deal with their absence from her life. For the first while she was too busy recuperating to notice, then she was too busy trying to remember how to be a cop. Now she’s healed and given up the only thing she was ever good at. Except she’s not good at it anymore, not when a perp pointing a gun at her causes her to panic, not when she can’t even hold her own weapon without trembling. Not when she doubts everything and everyone on the job. Not when she’s terrified to do her job, terrified of failing.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Boxes litter the living room floor, seeming strangely out of place against bare walls and empty cupboards. She can't even bring herself to cry, even though she wants to, can feel it building until she's certain the pressure will kill her. The sudden image of movers arriving and finding her body sprawled among bags and packing tape causes her to laugh. She wonders if they'll think to put her on the truck, take her away with her things.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>The doorbell startles her, even though a quick glance at her watch tells her it's just the truck, and this is it, the end of everything she was and everything she thought she would be. And now she has to do it again, make a life that she knows she doesn't really want, won't really be happy with, but it doesn't matter anymore because it's done and she can't stay here.</i>
</p>
<p>~*~</p>
<p>He recognizes the handwriting even before he checks the return address. Turning the envelope over, he pauses, uncertain what to think. Two years since he last saw her, two years since she vanished from his life, leaving a lingering hole that he still hasn't been able to fill. Tossing the rest of his mail onto the table, he slowly opens the card, careful not to tear the only proof he has that she still exists.</p>
<p>The card obviously came in one of those packages -not hand selected. A surge of disappointment runs through him, startling him in its intensity until he opens it. Inside more of her sprawling handwriting fills the page. He reads it twice before placing the card next to his mothers on the top of the television.</p>
<p>He had to fight against himself not to look for her. Even when he knew she didn't want to be found, didn't want him in her life. Didn't want anyone in her life and despite knowing that it was a constant battle. Now she's found him, and given him the means to finding her. An address. Not exactly an open invite, but he'll take what he can get. Glen Falls, only a six-hour drive if he's not mistaken.</p>
<p>He's packing before he fully realizes the implications of his actions. He shakes off a wave of doubt because even if she turns him away, he needs to know. Needs to see her with his own two eyes because he can't walk away. He's never been able to, never wanted to.</p>
<p>~*~</p>
<p>Shrill beeping echoes through the otherwise silent room, piercing through the thick haze of sleep. Groaning, Faith reaches beside her, silencing the alarm before pushing aside the covers and climbing out of bed.</p>
<p>The floors are cold and once again she wishes she’d thought to pick up slippers. Every morning she longs for a pair and yet she never remembers to buy them. She thinks maybe she just likes the self-torment. Either that or she’s grown accustom to suppressing her own desires, sacrificing her own needs in the name of motherhood. Except now her kids sleep miles away, carpet lining their floors.</p>
<p>She’s showered and dressed within minutes, her hair still damp as she rushes to her car. She’s still not used to a normal schedule, her body hardwired for the night shift. She’d spent a little longer then a month on the job before they placed her on days, saying she was too qualified to be relegated to nights. It still makes her laugh to think about, she would have been close to retirement by the time she qualified for days in New York.</p>
<p>The day shift doesn’t offer much excitement; not that the night shift would. Most days she spends driving in circles, simply making her presence known. Occasionally she comes across a break in, a domestic disturbance. The worst she’s seen was an accidental shooting, a hunting accident.</p>
<p>It’s the kind of job Fred always wanted her to have. The kind of job he begged her to get. The kind of job she refused and bucked against until he finally had enough and left. Not that she misses him, at least, not in any conventional way. She misses the presence of another human being. She misses a warm body beside her at night. She misses the sound of another heartbeat.</p>
<p>Shrugging off the thought, she starts the car, calling herself in and beginning another never-ending shift.</p>
<p>~*~</p>
<p>The roads are empty this time of the day and he finds himself oddly grateful. He's not certain he could have contested with traffic, not when he's practically quit his job to make this trip. He knows Swersky will let him come back, and he's certain the older man understood. Still, a night’s notice that he was taking off three days over Christmas didn't sit well, not when they were under-staffed to begin with. Not that it matters; he needs to do this, even if it means searching for a new line of employment come the New Year.</p>
<p>Cityscape gives way to forest, so dense at times he feels out of place. He doesn't leave New York often and the change in scenery only serves to remind him of just how stupid this plan actually is. Glancing next to him, he checks his map for the eighteenth time before merging onto the I87, following it as it bends north, home. And Faith is his home, she always has been, and he's fairly certain nothing will change that, not miles and certainly not years. Smiling, he fingers her envelope, her address long since memorized.</p>
<p>~*~</p>
<p>She can’t remember working an eventful Christmas Eve and today is no exception. Aside from a small disturbance in the local drug store over the last box of Turtles, she hasn’t left her car except to refill her coffee. She knows she should feel relieved to be home, but as she pulls into her driveway, the sight of her dark house makes her wish the day had latest an eternity.</p>
<p>She’d volunteered to work Christmas day, but despite her assurances they insisted she take it off. Not that she’ll be doing much aside from calling her kids and maybe her parents. She used to love this time of year, used to look forward to it with the enthusiasm of a child still believing in the miracle of Santa Clause and angels with wings. Now it’s simply another day; only serving to remind her of what she doesn’t have.</p>
<p>Opening the door, she tries not to cringe at the squeak of the hinges. It sounds hollow, lifeless and she wonders why she ever thought to rent an old Victorian home. Not that the town offered many other options, but it’s become far more trouble than it’s worth. She was never handy, never had to be and now that she’s forced to maintain a property she misses the convenience of apartment living.</p>
<p>She plugs in the tree lights, leaving the rest of the room dark before heading upstairs, changing out of her uniform and into pajamas. She doesn’t care that it’s still early, the sun has set and it’s enough of a reason to be comfortable. Dinner consists of microwave pasta, perfect for one or so the box would suggest. It doesn’t fill her, but she can’t remember the last time she cooked and she’s fairly certain she’s forgotten the process.</p>
<p>~*~</p>
<p>He's not sure what he was expecting but this isn't it. This place doesn't feel like Faith, at least, not the Faith he knows. The town is small, suffocatingly so. Neat lined homes stand out against the backdrop of pristine nature, like something out of a magazine. White snow lines the ground, the absence of murky brown slush giving him pause. Lights illuminate windows, circling around gutters, casting reflection off the snow and lighting the sky in soft hues of red and green.</p>
<p>It takes him next to no time to find the street he's looking for and before he can question what it is he thinks he's doing he finds himself pulling into Faith’s driveway. Towering evergreens dot the front yard; the remnant of what was once a white picket fence closing in the back yard. Cutting the engine, he expels a breath he didn't realize he was holding, his stomach tightening as the reality of where he is crashing over him.</p>
<p>The only indication that anyone's home is a dim light twinkling in the living room window. Despite the absence of exterior lights, she's thought to put up a tree. He wonders why she bothered, knowing her kids are still in the city. He sees them occasionally, always with Fred. He often thinks he should stop and say hello, but knows the family wants no part of him. He wonders if that still includes Faith.</p>
<p>Taking a steadying breath, he exits the car, shivering as a wave of cold air washes over him, chilling the blood in his veins and temporarily stealing his nerves.</p>
<p>~*~</p>
<p>She's told herself a thousand times that she can do this. It's not like she hasn't had practice. She's spent two Christmas' alone, this year shouldn't be any worse. Except it is and she thinks maybe it's a sign she should go home. But there isn't anything there for her now and she knows she won't be welcome.</p>
<p>It's not even her children she misses, although their absence strikes her everyday until she's certain she'll crumple under the weight of loneliness. She misses her friends, her job, her co-workers… and Bosco. She didn't expect him to send her anything, certainly not just because she'd sent him a card. She knows one card can't make up for everything that's happened between them. It can't make up for the hurtful words or her actions. Still, it hurts, knowing he's moved on without her. Knowing she's truly alone.</p>
<p>The knock on the door startles her and for a moment she considers ignoring it. Knowing her luck it's probably a neighbor, wanting her assistance in some matter they could easily settle on their own. That was the problem with small towns, people assume the police can solve anything, and aren't above asking if it suits their purpose. It doesn't help that everyone knows her -another downside to small town life.</p>
<p>Sighing, she pads across the living room floor, the worn wooden planks creaking under her feet. Opening the door she freezes, words dying on her tongue as she tries to process the sight before her.</p>
<p>~*~</p>
<p>He spent the drive thinking of at least a dozen things to say but now that he’s actually standing on her doorstep, he finds himself at a loss for words. Somehow, 'hi Faith', just doesn't seem appropriate. Or maybe there isn't actual words, maybe she understands. Except she's frowning at him and he's starting to think this is all a big mistake. Shifting nervously, he breaks eye contact, instead choosing to stare at his feet and wait for her to say something, praying she doesn't tell him to leave.</p>
<p>"Bosco? What are doing here?"</p>
<p>The insecurity in her voice causes him to look up, his chest tightening despite himself.</p>
<p>"I got your card," he explains, knowing it isn’t the best response but unable to come up with a better excuse.</p>
<p>Relief hits him as she smiles and he finally allows himself to breathe. He returns the gesture, his smile tinged with anxiety.</p>
<p>"Come in," she finally says, as though she's only just realized he was still standing out in the cold.</p>
<p>Nodding he shoulders past her, pausing in the front hall. Immediately he's overwhelmed by her scent, so strong he breathes deep, letting it wash over him, blanketing him in memory.</p>
<p>~*~</p>
<p>Sunlight filters through the room’s only window, landing on the bed and warming the sheets. Stretching, it takes Faith several moments to realize she’s not alone. The night comes back to her almost instantly, filling her with warmth far stronger than the sun’s rays. Opening her eyes, she turns to find Bosco watching her, a soft smile playing across his lips.</p>
<p>"Morning," he says, his smile becoming a grin.</p>
<p>"Merry Christmas," she replies, her own smile breaking across her face.</p>
<p>"Merry Christmas," he echoes, leaning forward and pressing their lips together.</p>
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